Brothers Haymaker (Haymaker Adventures Book 2)

by Sam Ferguson

  “Let’s just say that Gadrien was a bit of an eccentric,” Ziegler replied.

  “Fat lot of good that did the poor fellow,” Bull commented.

  “Jason, Moose, scout on up ahead and make sure the way is clear. The rest of you stick with me,” Ziegler commanded.

  Jason and Moose broke into a light run, staying just beyond the reaches of Ruben’s light as the rest of the group moved at a marginally slower pace. Jonathan kept his eyes peeled as they followed the underground walkway through a tunnel beside the water. At the end of the pool, the walkway continued on into a cavern that was barely tall enough for Ziegler to walk upright. The air here was warm and smelled of salt and musk. They followed this path for nearly twenty minutes before it came to a dead end.

  “Moose?” Ziegler asked.

  The large man turned around, quite a feat as he was hunched over in the tunnel, and shrugged. He pulled a cigar and lit it. The first match wouldn’t take, but undeterred he lit two more until the end of the cigar was burning brightly.

  Jonathan could only imagine what his Memaw would say if she saw the mountain of a man lighting his cigar at a time like this, let alone blowing the smoke into the small tunnel where everyone else was standing. Memaw would likely have chewed the large man up one side and down the other, but none of those present dared even look at Moose while he smoked.

  “Ruben, there should be a latch here, or a lever, or something,” Ziegler said.

  Jonathan, not about to be outdone by Ruben today, started scouring the sides of the cavern. He placed his hands on the stone and felt around for anything out of the ordinary. He managed to find a hole in the rock just big enough for his hand. He dug at the thick, soggy moss growing out of it and then snaked his left hand inside, examining the inside of the hole with the pads of his fingers. He found a round shaft that felt like wood. He wrapped his fingers around it and tried to pull.

  As he did so, what had felt like wood writhed in his hand and only then did Jonathan realize that it was made of sections that were hard, like large scales. He pulled his hand back reflexively, but something struck him before he could get completely out of the hole.

  “Gah!” Jonathan cried out. He jumped back and held his left wrist with his right hand. Blood was beginning to ooze out from two puncture wounds on the inside of his hand between his index finger and thumb. “Something bit me!” he shouted.

  Ruben came over immediately and whispered something as he waved a hand at the hole in the wall. A moment later, a very large creature was pulled out of the hole, held still inside a ball of green energy. It looked much like a centipede, except the creature had no legs. The body looked as though it might slither much the same way a snake would. The plates of its shell were black with large red and orange spots on them. The creature’s head was certainly more bug-like, however. A pair of antennae protruded out from two yellow spots on the top of its head, while seven eyes sat in a row upon the front of the head, just under a pair of white spots. A pair of nasty looking pinchers opened and closed, struggling against the magic Ruben was using. Behind those pinchers were two long fangs dripping with a clear liquid.

  “This is a Kabba,” Ruben said in a serious tone. “Highly venomous to—”

  Jonathan’s heart leapt into his throat. “Is there an antidote?” he interrupted.

  Ruben kept his eyes glued on the Kabba as he turned to magically send it further down the tunnel away from them. “Antidote is for poison,” Ruben corrected. “What you mean to ask for is an antivenom.”

  “I don’t care what it’s called, I want to know if I am about to die!” Jonathan squeaked.

  Ruben muttered something and the Kabba flew, sprawling and writhing through the air down the tunnel to disappear in the darkness, its angry screeches echoing through the tunnel. The wizard then turned to Jonathan. “I was about to say that it is highly venomous to fish, but has no ill effects on humans or elves.”

  Jonathan’s beating heart slowed. “Oh,” he said simply.

  “It will be sore for a day or two, but you’ll heal up just fine.”

  “Are you sure we don’t need to call the fairies over for help again?” Bull poked.

  “That’s enough,” Ziegler said. “We need to find the way out.”

  Ruben turned around and pointed at the dead end. “I managed to find the secret just before Jonathan got his hand stuck in that hole over there.”

  Great. Jonathan thought.

  Ruben walked to the door and traced his finger along the stone. As he did so, a set of orange runes began to glow in the stone. A light was born at the base of the wall and it rose slowly through the rock, sizzling and cracking as it grew up to the ceiling, and then the stone wall split in twain and opened to a small clearing in front of the forest.

  “This should let us out about a mile north of Tirnog,” Ziegler said. “This should help us put some distance between ourselves and the guards.”

  “Won’t they come looking for us?” Jonathan asked. “I mean, we had to show them papers to get in.”

  Ziegler turned around and nodded. “I suggest we hurry then. We have a long way to go to reach our next destination.”

  “Where is that?” Jonathan asked.

  “Telward,” Ziegler responded.

  Jonathan shook his head and stepped up closer to Ziegler. “Nebenuk told us that Raven went to Telward, but that he stopped in Sohn first.”

  Ziegler frowned. “Why would he do that?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I’m not sure. We were hoping Gadrien would tell us. Whatever it was, there must have been a lead he was following there.”

  Ziegler motioned for Jonathan to walk beside him. The party exited the tunnel; Ruben and Moose out in front, with Bull walking alone in the middle, and Jonathan, Jason, and Miranda walking with Ziegler. Together, they told him all Nebenuk had said about the amulet, and Larkyn.

  “Well then, I suppose we are headed to Sohn as well,” Ziegler said after they finished.

  CHAPTER 6

  The trio arrived in Sohn after a week of traveling over the road through the forest. Fortunately, they were not pursued from Tirnog, nor did they meet with any dangers on the road. Ziegler produced the travel papers to the guards and gained entrance for all of them rather easily. Jonathan was struck by Sohn’s similarities to large human settlements. Based on the descriptions of Sohn in the travel book, he had expected something a bit different.

  There were a few buildings that stood tall, but instead of the crystalline rock of Tirnog, these buildings were made of brick, wood, and stone. While most utilized either stone and wood or brick, some did in fact use all three materials, which gave a rather distinct atmosphere to the city. The roads were made of cobblestone and there didn’t appear to be nearly as much regularity to their width or overall evenness as there had been in Tirnog. Alleys varied in size and most were made of compacted dirt. Roads didn’t have equal gutters, nor were they bordered by finely kept rose gardens in front of the buildings that lined the streets.

  It did, however, have an inn close to the main gate, and that is where the group was heading.

  Jonathan looked up to see a wooden sign with painted letters of gold that read, “The Chubby Bunny.”

  Ziegler and Moose were first through the doors. Inside was a raucous mess of activity and noise that Jonathan would not have expected to find within an elven city. None of the passages in the travel guide had ever depicted the elves as anything but an austere, sober nation that frowned upon unruly and boisterous behaviors. Yet, here a quartet of string instruments that he didn’t recognize were busy playing fancy, quick-paced jigs while a trio of she-elves danced in shirts that barely covered their chests and skirts that flared out carelessly with heavy, clicking shoes that pounded the floor so violently that the drinks on nearby tables shook and quaked. There was nearly two feet of thick, gray smoke clouding the top of the ceiling and swirling around the patrons’ heads. At the tables, elves played card or dice games. It was every bit as loud and obnoxi
ous as any human pub might have been when the day laborers had ended their shifts, except there were no humans here.

  More than a few of the gamblers gave Ziegler a sidelong glance as he made his way to the bar. Several pair of eyes found their way to Miranda, surveying her hungrily as smiles stretched around pipes teeming with thick smoke.

  “This looks fun,” Ruben said with a doubting frown.

  Miranda’s lip curled back and she almost laughed. The dark-haired beauty then glanced over to Jonathan, still smirking.

  Jonathan smiled back at her. After all, he had met her in a place not so different from this one. Judging from the look on her face, she remembered that fact as well.

  They pushed through the throng, ignoring the stares from the elves and following Captain Ziegler. By the time they reached him, he had already procured beds for the night. The seven of them would all sleep in one room.

  The party left the main floor and made their way up a slightly curved set of well-worn, stained and cracked stairs. On the top floor there was a long, narrow corridor with three doors on either side. Ziegler walked over the creaking floor to the third door on the left. He slipped the key into the lock and opened it.

  “Inn keeper said that normally they would hold the key downstairs, but seeing as we paid for all of the beds in the room, I convinced ‘im to let us have it.”

  The others filed into the room. Jonathan was caught in the shuffle and waited until all the others had gone inside and claimed their beds. He was left with a rickety cot made of green canvas set upon a wooden frame. A thin, wool blanket was folded at the foot of the cot. There was no pillow. Jonathan kept his disappointment inside, not wanting the others to see him complain. After all, it was better than the endless torrents of rain he had faced in the Murkle Quags. At least here he was dry.

  He took off his pack and slid it under the cot. The others unpacked a few things and set their items on their beds. Jonathan looked around and was about to ask what the plan was when a knock came at the door.

  Ziegler glanced around and gave a silent nod of his head. Moose tip-toed to stand beside the door and drew a long, slightly curved knife from under his shirt. Ziegler went to the door and pulled it open.

  Jonathan was able to catch a clear view of the visitor from his position by the cot.

  A tall elf with white hair and deeply black skin stood in the doorway. He wore a cloak of green trimmed with black at the hem, held on his slender shoulders with a sparkling brooch of gold with a single ruby set inside. He reached out a hand, adorned with an emerald ring and a silver bracelet, for Ziegler to take.

  “I was not expecting visitors,” Ziegler said as he stood motionless.

  The elf let his hand linger in the air before Ziegler and arched his exceedingly white brow over his green eyes. “I have been expecting you for some time now.”

  “And who are you?” Ziegler prodded.

  “I am Friil Bosien, descendant of Commander Horiatu Bosien, Founder of Sohn, and the scourge of the Merfolk.”

  Ziegler’s muscles relaxed and with his left hand he issued an almost imperceptible signal to Moose. The mountainous warrior sheathed his knife and stepped out from behind the door without casting a glance back at Friil.

  Friil’s eyebrow arched ever higher when he noted Moose. His keen, vibrant eyes followed the warrior for a moment and then a sly grin pulled his lips apart to reveal stunningly white teeth. “So it is true then,” Friil began cryptically. “You are the Ghosts of the Quags.”

  “Our reputation precedes us, it seems,” Ziegler said. The captain finally reached his hand out to take Friil’s. “I am Captain Ziegler.”

  Friil nodded. “Yes, I thought so.” Ziegler stepped to the side and offered to let Friil in. The tall drow stepped into the room and glanced around. “The large one is Moose,” he said. Friil then pointed to Bull. “The bald one is Bull. The young one with the black hair and the blue eyes is Jason Haymaker. The younger brother with the blonde hair is Jonathan. And that means this other fellow is Ruben Faelwyn, an accomplished wizard from Lehemat, and then there is his bride-to-be, Miranda, who is also Raven’s daughter.”

  Everyone in the room glanced around nervously at each other. Jonathan wondered if perhaps a bounty had been put upon them back in Tirnog. Surely that would be the only way this drow would know their names and descriptions.

  Friil, sensing the tension, put his hand in the air and smiled. “I was told to expect you.”

  “Who would tell you such a thing?” Ziegler asked.

  “Raven, of course,” Friil replied evenly. “He gave me your descriptions so that I may prove my status as a friend to the cause.”

  “What cause is that?” Bull put in. “We’re here to get Raven, and I doubt he told you he was missing.”

  Friil set his hands together before his waist so that his fingertips touched and he took in a breath. “My dear, impatient Bull, Raven did in fact tell me just that. He came to see me, after meeting with Nebenuk in Tirnog. He had some questions about an amulet, and then he told me that if he went missing he would be followed by the Ghosts of the Quags.”

  “He predicted he would go missing?” Ziegler asked.

  Friil offered a half shrug. “He said only that you would look for him should he fail to return to Lehemat. I, on the other hand, suspected that he would fail most assuredly, and thus I have been waiting for you since he left. I must say, it took you longer to arrive than I would have guessed, but then I suppose humans have never had the most acute perception of time.”

  Bull opened his mouth to speak, but Ziegler held up a hand and shot him a deadly serious glare.

  Ziegler turned back to Friil. “What were you able to tell him about the amulet?”

  Friil shook his head. “Nothing more than Nebenuk, I am afraid. My family ranks among the nobility, but never were we privy to the council in Gwyndoltai. However, I did have a piece of information for him that I believe may assist you as well.” Friil’s green eyes scanned the room, settling on Jonathan for a moment before returning to Ziegler. “There is a member of the higher nobility that has made quite a name for himself. Mostly he is whispered about in hushed circles among close friends, as no one has ever been able to prove his misdeeds, but I think it a worthy clue for you.”

  “Give me the name,” Ziegler said.

  “His name is Larkyn, a direct descendant of Nebenuk. There are rumors that he has formed dark alliances in a bid for power. Those of us who still remember some of the old relics believe him to be after the amulet Raven carried.”

  Ziegler folded his arms across his chest. “Why tell us any of this?”

  Friil’s eyes grew hard and his voice took on a strained tone. “Elves have gone missing in the middle of Tanglewood. The trees are no longer safe for our people.”

  “And you believe these disappearances to be linked to Larkyn?” Ziegler pressed.

  Friil nodded, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at the closed door. “As I said, his involvement is only spoken of in rumors, but the disappearances are real. Three elves from Sohn have gone missing in the last four years alone. There are reports of others.”

  “There are dangerous creatures in the forest,” Ruben put in. “Why, we ourselves were set upon by a pair of wood sprites on our journey to Tirnog. Perhaps something else is responsible for the disappearances.”

  Friil shook his head. “The forest has been clean since its creation. Tanglewood has always been a haven for the elves. It is our birthplace. I am not ignorant of the fact that there are some abominations that have managed to creep their way into the forest, but I believe they have come at Larkyn’s invitation.”

  “Why would you say that?” Ziegler asked.

  Friil grinned wide. “I found a troll in the woods five summers past. When I approached him, he spoke. He called me ‘Larkyn,’ and waited for a response.”

  “What did you say?” Ruben asked.

  “I let my scimitar speak for me.” Friil pulled the left side of his cloa
k out to reveal an exquisitely crafted sheath of leather embroidered with velvet and stamped with silver runes. The handle protruding from the sheath appeared to be made of mithril, for the pommel shined silvery and bright, but was not like iron or steel. The handle was wrapped in leather and the guard glistened with the same silvery tone as the pommel, with runes of gold carefully placed into the guard. “I took the troll’s head, and then I pierced his heart and set the corpse ablaze. It was not until the disappearances that I heard the rumors of Larkyn’s evil deeds, otherwise I would have interrogated the foul creature.”

  “What on Terramyr was a swamp troll doing in Tanglewood Forest?” Ruben squeaked. “For that matter, how in Hammenfein did he even manage to get here in the first place?”

  Friil nodded. “That is the question I have often asked myself. Now, seeing Raven come with Nebenuk’s amulet, and then to have him disappear as well only deepens my suspicions.”

  “Why not confront Larkyn directly?” Jonathan asked.

  Friil’s eyes widened and his brows shot up a bit as he turned to regard the younger Haymaker. However, his expression was not one of pomp or offense, as Jonathan had experienced in Fort Sym. Friil put on a warm smile and seemed to nod almost as if he approved of the outburst. “Unfortunately, I can ill afford to be as impetuous as you might, Master Haymaker. If I were to make such an accusation without evidence, it would be a crime worthy of banishment for me. I am afraid a drow does not need to do much these days to be cast out from Tanglewood, even if his family founded an entire city and never wished to join the exodus.”

  “Where do we find Larkyn?” Ziegler asked.

  “His home is in Telward. There you will also find a council of powerful elven wizards who may be able to shed more light on the subject. However, they do not take kindly to prying eyes. You will have to be careful, for they will not likely give you the answers you seek.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Ziegler pressed.

  Friil frowned ever so slightly and glanced back to the closed door one more time. “If you hope to find out the true danger of Nebenuk’s amulet, then you should look for a council disciplinary record.” Friil stuck his right hand into his pants’ pocket and came out with a small, tan square of folded parchment. “I have written down the details so you can find the correct record. If you can find it, hopefully it will put you one step ahead of Larkyn.”